


His Hiding Place Had Been Discovered

by fromthedepthsofinsanity



Series: First Line - Homestuck Edition [6]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Archiveofourown Exclusive, Child!John, First Line Series, Gen, Queen!Jane, Rogue!Roxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedepthsofinsanity/pseuds/fromthedepthsofinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John has to hide and is found by a woman he's never met before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Hiding Place Had Been Discovered

His hiding place had been discovered. What was he going to do now? Three whole days he had concealed himself, wondering in terror just how long it would be until his mother found him. She had told him to run, to hide, to stay quiet until she called out his name. 

It had been a woman who found him, but it was most certainly not his mother. His mother had short dark hair that curled just a bit at the ends; his mother had eyes so blue and bright they almost blinded and had skin the same color as her favorite tea with cream; his mother would have never donned clothes so dark and hooded, mysterious, worn, and frayed; his mother was gentle perfection, poised happiness, loving sternness, and sunny nutrition. 

This woman was none of these things. Her hair was the color of white-yellow fire the court magicians used to show him as they entertained and curled and stretched just like a crawling flame, and her eyes, while bright like his mother’s, were as shockingly pink as the chewy candy the cook made special for him. Sleek and sly would have been her wardrobe; whether it was the minimalist cloak, tunic, and leggings she wore now or a tailored gown meant to turn heads, it mattered not. John could not tell exactly what she was, but he knew she was not the same as his mother. 

A gloved hand extended into the abandoned fox burrow in which he hid, and he scurried away from it, pressing his back flush against the cool dirt and hard tree roots. Her fingers curled toward her palm, as if catching something invisible and soft, and her hand drew back, but only just the slightest. His tiny heart pounded in his chest. It was kidding itself to think that even if it escaped his ribs, it would escape the woman blocking his only exit. 

“John,” She called, unfamiliar accent playing on all four letters of his name, “Come here.” 

He shook his head, fully aware that in the darkness she most likely couldn’t see the movement, but somehow, he knew those keen orbs were more accustomed to the shadows than any nocturnal predator. Her hand was extended again. A bit of shine glinted on her finger and distracted him. He knew that ring. His mother wore one as well. Rather than ease him, John’s stomach turned. 

“We don’t got’a lot’a time. Please come here.” 

He shook his head again. His mouth opened to tell her to go away, that he was waiting for his mother, but even that was dangerous. He shouldn’t talk to strangers unless he was introduced. It was better to assume them bad than think them good and find they wanted to do him harm. He was a prince, the only heir, and he needed to be careful. John cupped his hands over his mouth to keep all his words in. Even if he spoke now, it wouldn’t really be speaking. Muffled words weren’t easily understood. 

Brilliant pinks snapped away from him and nearly shrouded the burrow in total darkness as she looked up. She was listening. Leaves crackled with whispered warning, and the slightest breeze carried the scent of urgent alarm. They still searched, and while they couldn’t find her trail, they could find his. Seven-year-olds were normally not known for their careful escapes. 

Her lips whitened as they thinned on her face. She had but mere minutes before they could see her, know she had found The Heir, and descend with all the ferocity of war. She could hold her own, but John could not. 

Rounding back to him, she shoved her hand further into the burrow. It shook with purpose and anxiety and hope. She didn’t want to drag him out screaming and become a beacon for all that roamed with malice in the Forest of the Feral. 

“Jane isn’t comin’,” She finally said, voice quaking just enough, “Your mother can’t get ya. John, please. She’s not comin’.” 

“Yes she is,” John replied through the slits in his fingers, breaking his promise to his mother, “She promised. Mama never breaks a promise. She never lies.” 

“She can’t come,” Her tone was a stone, hard and heavy, “Ya gotta come here. Ya hav’ta leave with me.” 

“No,” He refused, “I don’t even know who you are. Mama says not to talk to strangers. I’m not a‘posed to talk to you.” 

“And I’m sure Janey’d be proud t’hear that,” The woman said more gently, “But she’d forgive ya this time. ‘Cuz it’s either me or them, and Johnny-babe, ya don’t wanna get tangled up with them.” 

John’s tiny hands left his face completely, “I shouldn’t-” 

“My name’s Roxy,” She interjected, hand seemingly all the closer to him, “We’re not strangers anymore, ‘kay?”

It made sense in his young mind. They weren’t strangers to each other now that he knew, “Do you know where my mama is?” 

“Yeah,” She nodded, hood bobbing precariously on her head, “Yeah, I do. She wanted me t’get ya ‘cuz she couldn’t. She didn’t want ya t’be alone.”

“I have been lonely,” John murmured, hugging his knees, “And hungry. And scared. I want a bath and some dinner and a snack and a bedtime story. I don’t go to sleep without one.”

“I’ll get ya all those things, but ya gotta come with me, John. We don’t have anymore time.” 

The cracking and crunch of heavy feet was coming closer. She could smell dog and horse and ill-bathed men coming ever closer. It would be a matter of moments before she was seen, even shrouded as she was in the decaying brush and generous shadows. A deep voice, a demanding call, carried on the frightened breeze to her ears, ever closer still to where John hid and she coaxed. A brighter commander would have found her already; gratitude to whomever put the current leader in charge. However, intelligence was not a determiner of luck. Even the idiotic could do better than the clever. 

A twig snapped not but twenty feet to her left, and every hair rose to flight-filled attention on her body. If only his subordinates were farther away, she could easily bring down one before he even knew a blade was in his throat. Many eyes and one curious child, a quick, unnoticed death did not make. 

“She won’t get mad will she? My mama?” 

“No,” She nearly hissed with concern. She could hear the man breathing. 

“You promise?” 

“I swear,” The bushes gave under his lumbering weight. Foliage both alive and dead protested his movements, “She won’t be mad.” 

“I know you’re there!” He boomed, “The game is over. No need to hide anymore, Little Prince.” 

Broad hands and thick fingers ripped through the undergrowth concealing them. Hot, fetid breath crawled through crooked, smiling teeth and plumed into a curling white in the chilled air, blinding him briefly. He had found him, the Heir, the Little Prince, the last bit of blue blood, and he would be rewarded. He wouldn’t be a mere pawn on the chessboard, but finally a hand to move the pieces. The brat just needed to be brought back for the slaughter. 

If only he had been a few moments quicker and a great many times quieter. Maybe then, he would have snared a rogue and heir both. He found nothing but the faintest imprint of a knee and foot where a human had kneeled to the mouth of a burrow and a bit of snagged blue satin caught helplessly on a jagged outcrop of bark. 


End file.
